


Overload

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [55]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play, Overworking, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, Wetting, Worried Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: McGee has overworked and underslept, and he really needs a break. Unfortunately, he has to get through this case first. And he's not so sure that he can do it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm back! And my depressive episode is over! I was radio silent everywhere for a bit because I had to be hospitalized, but I have new medication that works better and I'm ready to get back on the horse! I hope you enjoy this one!

McGee didn't know what went wrong. Over the weekend he had helped Sarah move into her college dorm, and had promised to let her visit his place if things got too much around complete strangers. Then there had been a call about a missing kid, a case which had taken the team 12 hours straight to close. It was a good thing for the kid, but McGee spent another 5 hours on the paperwork and passed out for an hour at his desk before it was time to work Monday morning. Gibbs would have let him take a nap in the basement either in autopsy or with the cold cases, except the paperwork still had to be finished. After that, the Director wanted to have a word with him about working too hard and using too much overtime, and for 23 hours McGee had not been home. And it was only 1 in the afternoon.

So, maybe he did know what went wrong. Didn't mean he knew any way to fix it.

Ziva and DiNozzo were back at their banter, and McGee wanted nothing more than to take a nap before they caught another case, preferably at his house but short that, anywhere remotely horizontal. No such luck, it would seem, as Gibbs walked in, growling under his breath. "Gear up, we've got another missing person in Annapolis."

McGee had to fight back a very large, very loud groan as he picked up his stuff and walked with the others to the elevator so they could get to the garage, drive for over an hour just to get to where the person was _not_ , and drive back. He'd probably be stuck in the back. Again. And he wasn't sure how much more of everything he could take.

* * *

McGee _did_  wind up in the back, but spent the time mostly listening to music or dozing, which helped some with his mood. At least for most of the trip. DiNozzo and Ziva were arguing about the radio station after Gibbs ran over a pothole and McGee was back to square one, shaking like a leaf and trying to fight off his impending panic. He turned from the evidence-lined shelves toward the grate that divided the front cab from the rest of the van, but the tension in the air was thicker than McGee was comfortable interrupting. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but knew it was something. He wanted to be little, to not have to know what was wrong, because someone else could handle it for him. But they all were on their way to a crime scene, and closer to it than to the office, so he couldn't ask for Gibbs to drop him off quickly before continuing. He curled up in the back as everything seemed to get louder and brighter and sharper. It all was vying for his attention, and he knew he was on the edge of a panic attack.

Gibbs took a sharp turn and slammed on the brakes. They were at the crime scene. What was he supposed to do when they arrived again?...Oh, yeah, bring out the gear. He stood up in the back, looking over his and DiNozzo's and Ziva's stuff. Which bag should he grab first? All of them had to be out there, but who needed what when? He reached for DiNozzo's gear, and stopped. What if Ziva needed hers more than DiNozzo? He reached for hers, but stopped short again. He should grab both, shouldn't he? At the same time? He stared at the pile of gear in the corner. He knew he had to pick the bags up, but something was getting lost in translation and his arms weren't moving. There was a pounding on the side of the van and McGee jumped out of his skin. "Probie! Come on, we haven't got all day!" DiNozzo called.

McGee was shaking as he grabbed both bags and turned to the door. Only then did he realize he had a problem. The doors were still closed, and now his hands were full. He couldn't open them. Biting his lip, he processed this new information as best he could. He was putting one of the bags down when the doors opened by themselves and DiNozzo looked in, very annoyed and not afraid to voice his feelings. "Stop going at a snail's pace, McGee, you _know_  these cases are time sensitive!"

"S-s-sor-ry," McGee stuttered.

He looked at the bags in his hand, trying to determine which was DiNozzo's. McGee passed the one without a knife sticking out of one of the side pockets to the other man and turned around, intent on finding his own bag. His hands were shaking and the thought of going outside into all those stimuli made them shake harder. But he had to. Like DiNozzo said, these cases were time sensitive; they couldn't afford to wait until he was finished with a panic attack.

He grabbed his bag and jumped out of the van, wincing in the sun. It was too bright, but he said nothing.

When Ziva thanked him for bringing out her bag for him in too loud a voice, he said nothing.

When Gibbs asked him what took him so long in the van in that tone which put him on edge, he said nothing.

When the witness cried hysterically during his questions and grabbed him with a hand that felt like a sledgehammer had hit him, he said nothing.

Even when he was taking pictures of the site on the street where the abduction happened and his head felt like it was detaching from his body, he said nothing. He did, however, take off the camera and shove it into DiNozzo's hands before rushing back to the van and curling up in the farthest corner from the light streaming into the back.

McGee was shaking so hard he could hear his teeth chattering in his skull. He pulled himself into the tightest ball he could form and buried his head in his knees. His breath was coming in gasps if it was coming in at all, and it was being shoved out of his lungs with violent force less than a second after it made its way into his lungs, and his eyes burned like they were on fire, and was he dying? He felt like he was dying, even though logically he knew people didn't die from panic attacks.

There were sharp footsteps outside _too loud too loud to handle_  and McGee would have whimpered if he could even breathe properly. "McGee!" Gibbs' voice barked, even louder than the too-loud footsteps. "What do you think you're doing?! Get back out here and do your job!"

McGee continued to shake and gasp for air with no chance of calming down, and tears were pouring down his face with reckless abandon.

"McGee, I know you're in there," Gibbs warned. But McGee couldn't respond. There was a tense pause from Gibbs, before he asked, softer, "Tim?"

A sob managed to escape McGee's mouth and he muffled it with his hands immediately. Too much noise, he knew what happened when he made too much noise.

The van tilted toward the back entrance, and there were footsteps, quieter but still far too loud, and then someone had crouched in front of him, taking away some of the light that was hitting him before. "Crap," Gibbs breathed. "Tim, are you okay?"

McGee was convinced he was dying at this point. If not from the panic attack, then by Gibbs' hands. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself and nearly choked, making the whole scenario worse. Gibbs forced him to straighten up and McGee breathed a little easier. But now the light was glinting off everything and the noise around him was sharper and he just wanted to make it all _stop stop stop_!

Gibbs moved to the entrance of the van and closed the doors, before moving back to McGee and picking him up, moving him to Gibbs' lap.

McGee flinched at the sudden touch, feeling every tense muscle in Gibbs' arms, and he refused to be big any longer. He uncurled just enough to wrap himself around Papa, and buried his head into the crook of the man's neck, wishing he could just disappear.

"What's wrong?" Papa whispered.

Timmy made a choked noise in the back of his throat by way of reply. Words were hard enough when he was an adult in a state like this. Little? It was impossible.

Papa leaned back a little but Timmy moved with him. He wasn't about to face the world like this, even if the world was just Papa in the back of the van. "Am I speaking to Timmy?" Papa asked.

Timmy took a shaky breath in for a whole second and nodded before the air was forced out of his lungs.

Papa nodded and rubbed circles on Timmy's back until he wasn't shaking as hard and he could breathe semi-easily with a slight wheeze. Papa tried to move again but Timmy clung to him tighter. Papa couldn't leave; Timmy couldn't be on his own! "Timmy?" Papa asked gently.

"N-n-n..." Why were words so hard? He knew exactly what he wanted to say! "N-not lea-leave."

"I'm not leaving, kiddo, I just want to see your face, and make sure you're all right. I could feel you crying."

Timmy understood the words being said to him, but making sense of big sentences seemed like so much work, and he was so low on energy. He clung to Papa tighter and repeated himself. "Papa not leave."

"Papa's not leaving, kiddo," Papa said. And Timmy thought he might sound concerned. "Papa wants to see you, make sure you're okay."

Timmy recognized the way Papa was speaking. That's how he spoke to Tony a lot of the time. Soft and gentle and simple. Easy to understand.

Papa moved his head to the side. "Can you show Papa your face, Timmy?"

Timmy slowly moved his head from the crook of Papa's neck. The noises weren't so loud and it wasn't as bright as before. Papa smiled at him and ruffled his hair. "Good job, kiddo. Is it all right if I give you some protection, just in case?"

Protection? Timmy didn't need protection, did he? He was freaked out, but last he checked that didn't warrant a Pull-Up. He nodded anyway, because Papa knew what he was talking about with these things.

Papa moved around the van as well as he could while Timmy was clinging to him, and somehow managed to change Timmy and put pants back on him before Timmy even realized that he was wearing a diaper rather than a Pull-Up. When he did, he didn't really think much of it, just figured that they had run out of spare Pull-Ups in Papa's go bag and had to use the next best thing. Papa ruffled his hair again. "I'm sorry you had a bad time, baby boy. But I'm so proud that you calmed down."

Timmy did an internal inspection and found that his breathing had returned to normal and he had stopped crying. He hadn't even realized it. Normally that would scare him, but he wasn't feeling big enough to worry about those sorts of things. Papa was here, and he could take care of everything. When Papa moved, though, Timmy's head shot up to look at the man. "Papa leaving?" he asked.

"No, baby boy. Papa's just making sure his legs feel okay."

Timmy looked at him uncertainly, and held on to him tighter anyway. Good thing, too, because DiNozzo opened the back of the van. "Boss? We need you out here, there's a witness who refuses to behave."

"I'm a little tied up, DiNozzo," Papa said, nodding to Timmy.

DiNozzo tilted his head to the side and glanced around. "Want me to close the doors again?"

Papa looked down at Timmy and the boy nodded. "It would probably help. Was the witness ignoring your orders or Ziva's?"

"Mine. Insisted she wanted to talk to the person in charge in that 'I'd like to speak to the manager' voice."

Timmy whimpered and squeezed Papa as hard as he could. "Papa not leave," he pleaded.

Papa sighed. "DiNozzo, how are you with little kids?"

DiNozzo looked shocked. "You want me to...Me?!"

"Well, I can't very well take him with me, DiNozzo!" Papa pointed out.

Timmy shook his head and felt his breathing start to pick up. DiNozzo clambered into the van and Papa passed Timmy over as best as he could when the boy was clinging to him madly. "No! No!" Timmy pleaded, but Papa left and closed the door.

DiNozzo wrapped his arms around Timmy as he tried to get to the door. "Hey, hey, hey. You can't go out there, kid. Last time you worked yourself up something serious."

"Papa!" Timmy whined, pointing to the door.

DiNozzo sat down on the floor and pulled Timmy with him. "Papa will be back in a bit, kid. He had to do adult things."

Timmy started to cry and pulled against DiNozzo's arms. He needed Papa _now_.

"What's gotten into you, kid? You're usually not like this," DiNozzo said. "You're...you must be feeling pretty small if you're not even using full sentences."

After a few minutes of tugging, Timmy flopped against DiNozzo's chest and stuck his thumb in his mouth. If Papa wasn't going to be here, at least he could be hugged by someone else.

"Very small, if you're acting like this," DiNozzo said, and Timmy could have sworn he heard fear in the man's voice. "Timmy, can you even speak in full sentences?"

Timmy looked at DiNozzo and took his thumb out of his mouth. "Timmy likes Tony."

DiNozzo smiled a little at that. "Most people seem to, for reasons unknown to me."

Timmy giggled and put his thumb back in his mouth. DiNozzo was nice, and he got someone to protect him from the monsters, so this wasn't all bad. Still, he wanted Papa back. Or maybe Ziva so he could play with someone. She never minded if he got worked up; she actually seemed to understand. She was the only one who did.

The door opened and Papa walked in. Timmy made a noise that was almost a squeal of delight and reached out to the man. DiNozzo laughed. "Okay, the kid is scaring me, but that's adorable."

Papa smiled, though there was worry in his eyes. "You're not the only one who's worried," he said, looking Timmy up and down. "He's gone lower than I think even you've gone, at least in a very long time."

"What caused it? Do you know?" DiNozzo asked.

Timmy was passed back to Papa and Papa shrugged. "I'm not sure. But we've got all we need from here. Tell Ziva to come back to the van with the evidence, will you? And you drive on the way home. Timmy doesn't need another panic attack."

DiNozzo nodded and then he was gone. Timmy leaned into Papa and listened to his heartbeat. It was very grounding to feel and hear the blood pumping through another human being.

After a minute, Ziva approached the back and stacked boxes of evidence near the entrance. She observed Timmy. "Is he all right?"

"I'm not sure," Gibbs said. "But he's stopped crying, which is a start."

Ziva walked over and tweaked the boy's nose. "Feeling better, love?"

Timmy nodded and reached for Ziva's hair. She pulled it out of his reach and smiled. "Not my hair, love. I will be in the front with Tony, though, if you want to talk?"

Even though Timmy knew he wasn't going to talk, he nodded. Ziva left the back and closed the door, and Timmy rested against Papa's chest again. He was very tired still, even after the nap he got in the office in the early hours of the morning. Between the hum of the van's engine once they were moving, his general exhaustion, and Papa's heartbeat, Timmy was out like a light.

* * *

When Timmy woke up, the first thing he recognized was that it was cold. He could still hear Papa's heartbeat if he listened closely, but that was overshadowed by the rumbling sensation in Papa's chest that meant he was speaking. "--Never acted like that before, Duck. I'm worried."

"I'm sure young Timothy is fine, Jethro. Merely trying to cope with a situation he found hard to function in. I expect he should be back to his senses within the day."

Timmy opened his eyes to confirm his suspicions that they were back at the office, in autopsy. Papa bounced him lightly. "Sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean to wake you."

When Timmy didn't say anything immediately and just looked up at Papa, the man's face changed into worry. "You all right?"

"Mm-hm," Timmy hummed, rubbing one of his eyes and yawning.

"You're quiet today," Papa said.

Timmy blinked up at Papa before looking around. Both Papa and Uncle Ducky were sitting in chairs, and Timmy was on Papa's lap. "Down?" he asked.

Papa released his grip on Timmy and Timmy slid off Papa's lap, not moving anywhere once he was sitting on the floor. Papa carded his fingers through Timmy's hair. "He's calm, but he isn't aging up. Why do you think that is?" Papa asked.

"Perhaps he is not yet ready. Do you know what he was doing over the weekend?"

Papa shook his head. "I know he was denied a personal day when we were assigned the weekend shift and he had something planned Sunday."

"He told me he was helping his younger sister move into her school," Ducky explained. "I imagine that took most of his energy even before yesterday afternoon's kidnapping. When I arrived for work this morning early-I imagine it was about six-thirty-he was asleep at his desk, and he hadn't clocked out the night before. He hasn't been home for over a day at least, Jethro, the poor boy has to be exhausted."

Papa stilled at the final statement and Timmy turned around to look at him. He liked the fingers moving through his hair, why did they have to stop? Papa was looking him over carefully, searching for...something. Timmy didn't really care much one way or the other what it was.

He reached up and grabbed Papa's hand, moving it through his hair himself. Papa chuckled, resuming his head petting and Timmy leaned into the touch. At the moment all he wanted was someone to continue contact with him and tell him that everything would be all right. He was a bit unsure why; the outer edges of his brain were grown-up and confusing and scary, so he didn't dwell on it.

He was getting bored just sitting on the floor, though. Uncle Ducky paused in what he was saying, stood up, walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, and came back with a tangle toy with at least three different colors and twice as many textures. Timmy liked the toy a lot, he sometimes made up reasons to come down to autopsy just to play with it a little. He bent it and twisted it around itself, and found it much more interesting than what the adults were talking about. Something about speaking with the Director about being nicer to him and what they should do with the case with a man down from the team. It didn't seem important.

The doors to autopsy opened with a whoosh and the conversation above Timmy paused as the participants looked to the newcomer. Timmy looked over too out of habit, but not out of any real interest. Palmer was standing there, looking very confused. "Wh...Should I come back?"

"Nonsense Mister Palmer, I do believe we require someone to look after young Timothy for a few moments. Jethro and I needed a chance to delve into serious matters, and I do believe you just solved our problem for us," Uncle Ducky said.

Timmy looked up to Papa, betrayed. Papa held up his hands. "Hey, kiddo, I'm not even leaving the room okay? I'm just going to be on the other side of it for a little privacy while I talk with Ducky."

That wasn't fair! Couldn't Papa see that Timmy needed him right now? Did he even care? The adults stood up and moved to the other side of the room, but Palmer approached to effectively stop Timmy from following. He didn't want to be impolite, and that meant he couldn't shove the man out of his way even if he were standing up and really wanted to. Palmer sat across from him, cross-legged. "So. Are you okay?"

Timmy shrugged, looking over to where Papa and Uncle Ducky were talking. He wanted to be over there, if only so he knew that Papa wasn't leaving him.

"You have my tangle, do you like it?"

Timmy looked down. He did still have the tangle in his hands. He nodded, twirling the pieces around and around each other. He was anxious. He didn't like being alone.

Palmer was examining him. "Why aren't you talking? You're usually pretty talkative when you're small, and you're definitely not an adult right now."

"Timmy don't wanna," he said simply, continuing to spin the tangle around.

"Oh, you're feeling smaller than usual, aren't you? A lot smaller. If you're talking like that, probably eighteen months old. Two at the oldest."

Timmy looked at Palmer with nervousness. He wasn't in trouble for being smaller, was he?

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know. I mean, Doctor Mallard takes care of me when I feel like that, and Agent Gibbs does that with Tony. I'm just a bit surprised that _you're_  the one feeling this small. You almost never have a dramatic change from your normal space," Palmer rambled.

Timmy didn't catch everything Palmer was saying, but what he got out of that was the answer he probably wasn't in trouble, everyone who was concerned was just surprised and wanting to help. He looked over to Papa and Uncle Ducky, and found that they were arguing quietly but heatedly on the other side of the room.

"Hey, uh, Timmy?" Palmer prompted.

Timmy looked to Palmer expectantly.

"Did you...uh, you have a...um. I think you might need to be changed."

Timmy frowned. What? He was supposed to be a big kid, wasn't he? Why would he need to be changed if he was a big kid? He looked down. He couldn't see his diaper, persay, but there was a certain way that his pants were sitting that lent itself to the theory the garment underneath was used. And when Timmy thought about it, he found that the diaper was warm. He didn't even know he needed to do anything! He looked over at Palmer in uncertainty. What was he supposed to do?

"Do you need me to tell Agent Gibbs?" Palmer asked gently.

Timmy nodded. He wasn't sure if he could even explain what had happened. That seemed too grown-up for him.

"Hang on," Palmer said, standing up and walking to the other side of the room.

The two men arguing looked over when he approached, and Palmer must have quickly explained the situation, because Papa was coming over almost immediately. Timmy was lifted off the ground and carried into the back room where there was a row of lockers. Papa laid him down on the ground and changed him so fast Timmy didn't even know the change had started when it was over.

When Papa ruffled Timmy's hair as the boy sat up, Timmy rubbed at his eyes. He was still tired, and he wanted to take another nap. But he needed to say something first. "Timmy's sorry. Timmy's small."

"You don't have to apologize for that, kiddo," Papa reassured. "Papa was scared a little at first, but if this is what you need right now, then I'll help however I can."

"Why scared?" Timmy asked.

Papa sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I was just...I didn't know why you were doing this. It surprised me."

Timmy frowned. That didn't make any sense to him. He didn't know either, but the fact was it had happened, so it was best to roll with it, wasn't it? Just let it go?

Papa picked Timmy off the ground and Timmy blinked in surprise. "Where we going?"

"Somewhere you can get the sleep you need," Papa said. "Where no one else will bother you today. And then I'll explain to the Director why not letting you have a personal day was a bad idea. Does sleep sound good?"

"Yeah," Timmy said, resting his head on Papa's shoulder.

"Thought it might," Papa chuckled. "C'mon, baby boy. Let's get you someplace to rest."

Timmy nodded, before closing his eyes and once again drifting off to sleep.


End file.
